A Midnight Walk Through the River Styx
by Milk
Summary: RE-DONE and better than ever!!! Children everywhere; be fruitful and multiply - yet there are just two we see everywhere. Their task - for what?


Midnight Walk  
  
Xal'Thun marched endlessly in the winter snow, his feet trudging along with such strain he felt another step would leave him for dead. He felt like this the step before, and the step before that. The furs on his shoulders had become worn and torn, his spear dulled by the flames of combat. He didn't open his eyes anymore, nor did he bother to listen at the winds cutting like frostbitten blades into his ears. He had become blind and deaf to the world. What little remained of his fur hood was wrapped tightly around his head such that nothing in his face could be seen.  
  
He was one of the thousands that marched onward without word of complaint. They were trained since childhood to take the brunt of the pain, to help themselves before anyone else, and to be able to defeat anything that should come their way. All of them walked on, some in shambles and nearly completely naked, while others were gripping tightly at what little cloth was strapped onto their backs. The skin was glazed with an icy frost and all flesh had paled into a clear sign of death. So they say.  
  
The march was one of the thousands of marches that came when the Lord of Destruction weaved his path through all that stood between him and his fiancÃ©e, Mount Arreat. Creatures stumbled forward into battle, large pearly studs of spikes reaching out from their hands and gnawing at the frosty floor, tearing through and then above into the flesh of the living, of the dead or of the air. They tore wildly at their prey, claws stained in blood and eyes gleaming a permanent blood red at their enemy. A war had taken place; the barbarians were removed from their position.  
  
The battle was one of the thousands the barbarians had waged; each had returned mortifyingly negative battle reports. For every second they marched, more and more creatures gave chase to begin their sacrificial dance with their prey. It was a dance of death that left either one or the other standing. In many cases neither stood in the end. And, still the numbers of the barbarians were diminishing as they fled through the snow, the back being torn like a rag doll slowly and surely. Xal'Thun was in the back; he knew he would die. His legs told him so and he felt more compelled every second until at last, he could no longer step again. His eyes squinted as the rest of the troupe continued forward, leaving Xal'Thun to die alone.  
  
The feeling poured into his heart and froze his body as the rest marched on without him. Death had been such a feeling that seemed escapable; the constant mantras chanted by their elders and the dances of youth that seemed to bring new vigor into the body had failed him now. His body sunk as he reached out for his dull spear, finding himself, reluctantly, to those that they had called the enslaved.  
  
They were small, stubby creatures that were as if they had been dipped into a pool of thorns. Everywhere from their back to front were thorns, from the wrinkles on their cheeks to the hand that held the blade. One of the many had stumbled out of the formation and had dashed ahead â€" far ahead â€" to do battle with the lone barbarian.  
  
Though exhausted, Xal'Thun let out a roar in the midst of his confrontation; the stubby creature stumbled back with a start as Xal'Thun expended much of his energy, bending the spear back and forth before thrusting straight through, his entire body moving like liquid. The shoulders slunk from their rigid position, the arm whip lashing forward as the blade of the spear swing around to the side, connecting with the creature's left arm. It knocked off a thorn from his skin; now a black circle replaced it.  
  
Again and again Xal'Thun swung again and again with his spear, back and forth, chopping it from sides and front, knocking off thorn after thorn after thorn, always hoping that the creature would stumble back and retreat. But, it would not retreat and it charged again and again and again after every swing.  
  
His strength waning, he thrust forward again, but instead of swinging it sideways, it traveled straight and true; fired upon the furnace of life, the creature gave a devastating grunt as the spear at last had punctured the skin at its heart. The creature again and again tried to struggle forward, but it could not and did not. Instead it fell over, falling into the snow and disappearing in the thick blanket that went up to Xal'Thun's knees.  
  
Immediately he smelt the stench of the corpse not even a moment after it had died. His nose twitched uneasily as the uncomfortable smell began to creep though his body; it was the only smell and it was the smell of nausea. Yet, Xal'Thun realized when he had been blessed with opportunity. With a dead creature by where he stood, his eyes scanned the surrounding area.  
  
His ears, once deaf to life, suddenly could hear the faint but distinct sound of a war drum being let off in the distance. It traveled to him at a rhythmic pattern, one after another, steadily advancing up on the mountain. No creature was in sight, and the barbarian sighed.  
  
He prayed again to those that watched above him, and quickly looked down at this feet. Snow was what he saw, and snow was what he began to dig. Closer the war drums came and deeper the barbarian dug. Before long, his head sunk out of sight, his body replaced by a layer of snow. And the creatures rose from beyond the horizon. But nothing could be seen, save snow, snow, and the war banners heralding the start of a new era.  
  
  
  
One Day Later...  
  
  
  
The calling of the snow would soon be heard all over. It erupted very loudly across the minute-made villages hastily prepared in the wake of Baal's destruction. The call came, first as a soft, slow, hoarse tone, then erupting loudly and bellowing across the entire summit. The snow doubled over. They arched its way like a swimmer would do facing water, falling straight and true, falling and falling until it could fall no more. Inches of snow piled against the splintered edges of what could be called a fence. The fence fell over, individual logs that were once thrust into the air proudly quivering a moment before they scattered to the ground on all sides. Snow flew up along with cloth and blood. Children died similarly to their parents, crushed, screaming, begging, gibbering.  
  
Xal'Thun flailed his arms wildly, thrashing at snow that covered his face, covered his eyes and covered his sight. With all his strength his body puckered up to the surface as his arms tore through the pure snow. And Xal'Thun breathed. He breathed and gasped for air as his lips touched the surface. The air was cold and crisp, signs of a new morning come and passing. Even as his body arose from the snowy depths the sounds of war drums were still heard off in the distance.  
  
He saw his spear in the distance. The creatures he had met had trampled on it through the night's march. Now his weapon was in pieces, splinters down the sides and the blade as crooked as a twig. As such, Xal'Thun could not fight. He let out a sigh as he sat down in the snow. His body was shivering and reflected a light hint of blue as a result of his sleep in the snow.  
  
Coldness he could shake off without a doubt. Soon, from the remains of his wooden spear and from the bark of the lifeless trees surrounding him, a fire was started. It was a small one as to not attract too much attention, just big enough so that he could feel his fingers move and his toes wiggle again.  
  
As the flames blew, Xal'Thun began to think of the past, when he was still a child. Then he understood peace. Now he understood war. Such was life, ever changing all the time. Xal'Thun stood again with a start, angered by his memories.  
  
"No peace, no love, no life. Where to go?" His eyes squinted into the sun. Exactly where was he? How far had his troupe been marching before they set up camp? Where was he to go? Xal'Thun had no weapons, no equipment save the tattered loincloth around his waist, and no sense of direction. The winter snow had erased those signs he had remembered in the past. Yet, Xal'Thun struggled to remember.  
  
He passed by two relatively large stones jutting out of the ground, each top covered with an inch of snow. As his hands ran across the stones, Xal'Thun was suddenly reminded of two little barbarian children that once ran around these two rocks as a result of a fight. One of them was Xal'Thun. He remembered himself picking up a rock on the ground and throwing it at the other kid. The rock traveled straight and true; it punctured his left eye and knocked him to the ground.  
  
As an adult, he bent down near the two rocks, and began to dig between the rocks. His eyes were closed, a soft tear trickling down his cheek as he dug. Snow gave way to dirt and soon it gave way to a little niche. Xal'Thun came often as a child, placing things his brother once had in the niche. It was large enough to fit two people.  
  
Instead of people, there were other various things inside. Among them lay cracked swords, a skull, a spearhead that once belonged to a hunter, two rubies, an emerald, and a hefty axe. His hands still dug around a little longer, looking for something else, still digging out the dirt that covered much of the niche until again his fingers felt something.  
  
His fingers dug in and as he pulled out, he came face to face with a beautiful sword. Xal'Thun doubted its effectiveness, but still he was amazed by its dazzling beauty. The hilt was magnificently forged, as if a golden snake had curled around it tightly. Spikes gleamed at the wielder's opponent. Xal'Thun did frown, though; the blade itself seemed unsuitable for combat, even though the sword whispered to Xal'Thun of its unspeakable beauty. The blade looked randomly carved, some portions looking actually dulled and sticking out in random places. It would be off balance, Xal'Thun figured, if he swung in the usual sword-toting fashion. Yet, as he did swing in the air, the blade flashed through the air with a burst of speed, slicing the air with a fresh sound. Zing!  
  
The sound was refreshing, and Xal'Thun smiled, a face that sparingly showed through his visage. The smile vanished as his face turned to the skull that seemed to have a life of its own, rolling out of the niche and onto the floor. Xal'Thun hated his skill - so perfect with so wrong a blade. He hated his gift, he hated the events that were unleashed because of his gift; he hated the consequences of those events. He wanted his mother, his father, his brother. They all were under the ground, his brother's skull staring at him from the niche. Xal'Thun looked away for an instant, trying to forget himself once more as he had done for years past.  
  
Xal'Thun shrugged, as if a new burden was placed on his shoulders. "You're not a spear, but I guess you'll have to do." Again, he looked off into the distance. Clouds, dark gray clouds circled ominously closer and closer to where he stood. His feet were buried in snow, some parts stained, like rags, with scarlet.  
  
"And I guess I'll be looking for shelter, next. I can't take much more of the snow." He picked at his skin with his fingers. Frost seemed to gather between the wrinkles of his skin and he knew, despite his resistances to the cold, that he could not stand another night in the snow.  
  
"And I shouldn't have to hide in the snow any longer. I would think the minions of destruction have passed already in the night. They would be moving ahead, to... Mount Arreat? No, it can't be!" At last he finally began to understand the task that befell those horrible creatures. Ahead, he knew, lay the highest of mountains, tower of towers, the great Mount Arreat. He had only visited it once as a child, and even then he remembered nothing save the wonderful designs of the floor on the summit. He could see the three golden statues almost looking into his eyes. Those days have long passed, he sighed.  
  
The winds picked up as he walked, the gleaming sword in his hand. Soon the sun shone no longer, and Xal'Thun grumbled. He had not eaten in a day, and the only drink surrounded him for miles. His feet began to tire and his eyes felt weighted. Xal'Thun sneezed.  
  
Persistence gave way to the side of the mountain, a cavern beckoning Xal'Thun to enter. "Come," it said. "You'll be safe from the snow. You'll have food to eat, you'll be loved, you'll find shelter and have everything you could possibly ever want." Voices, Xal'Thun muttered.  
  
"Voices... children. Perhaps they have food." He used up a bit more strength, then, sloshing his feet harder than ever before, digging his arms into the snow faster, more vigorously until at last he reached the cave entrance.  
  
As he stepped inside, he could immediately see two little children in rags, sitting down. The younger one was lying on the older one, the eldest merely brushing the younger one's hair. A corpse lay untouched near them, cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and spiders making a home in the eye sockets. The eldest glanced at the barbarian as he stepped closer. He was nearly stumbling over himself, his legs tripping over himself. The sword was digging trails in the snow.  
  
The eldest child was patting the younger one on his back, slowly rubbing his fingers down the ridges of his bare spine. Finally the oldest one turned his head again down to the child, staring into his eyes as if a star had just been born. His fingers moved from his spine up, up to his neck and then his face. They touched the younger one's face ever so softly, almost echoing within the touch a glimmer of comfort within.  
  
"We'll be okay, little one. We'll be okay. I think we've got someone to help us." His face turned back to the barbarian, lightly impressing a smile on his face. The younger one turned his body around, still grasping his arms around the elder one's waist. His head buried into the older one's chest, the slight brown hair raising up and down as tears steadily flowed down his cheeks.  
  
It was more of a sob than anything. "I... I just want my daddy..."  
  
Xal'Thun, unable to collect himself any longer, watched the room rise as his legs gave way under his own feet. Down he fell, his sword lifted as his arms flailed, then his entire body landing on the floor with a crash. The eldest child's smile disappeared.  
  
The barbarian, after much toil, managed at last to lean himself on the wall, his arms massaging his legs strenuously, almost completely oblivious to the children as he worked. His arms screamed murder as they strained themselves working on his legs.  
  
A sigh erupted from the barbarian and he closed his eyes and saw. Xal'Thun saw a small child running into a cavern and he saw a large man running in after it, his arms outstretched for the younger and his other hand holding on to another child, one only slightly older than the first. In the smaller child's hand was a short sword, the edge not much longer than an adult's thigh. And then he opened his eyes and saw the two children lying on the cavern floor and looking at himself.  
  
They didn't speak again to anyone for a long while, the barbarian closing his eyes again and allowing his mind to drift as the two children lay there on the floor of the cavern.  
  
Finally, though, after what seemed like hours, the barbarian opened his eyes again and blinked. The children were still there, almost in the same pose as before. Still the eldest sat, brushing the younger one and the younger still sniffling. A pool of salt and water formed in the crevices of the rock they sat on.  
  
"Why are you two here?" the barbarian asked.  
  
The eldest sat silent for a moment before a soft mutter began to echo down the caverns. "Our father brought us here. He was running from the monsters... and he took us here." Then the eldest lifted his hand off the younger one's hair and he pointed down the mouth of the cavern. "He went in there. But... it's been one whole day and he hasn't come back yet."  
  
"But why? Why did he go down there and leave you two alone?"  
  
Before the eldest had a chance to respond, the youngest one's head unburied itself for a moment as he moved his lips. "He... he said he would go and... get food for us."  
  
The eldest broke in. "He never came back. We're still waiting for him ever since. It's getting colder, too." He turned his head away again, looking for the comfort of the snow. "We heard sounds outside yesterday. Lots of sounds. I heard swords and screams. Is something going on?"  
  
The barbarian looked at the child. "No... don't worry about it, little one. Look, let's go out and see if we can find your father." Perhaps, he thought to himself, their parent would know the way home... just perhaps...  
  
His legs seemed full of energy as he stood again after a long moment's worth of rest. Quickly he kneeled down near the younger child, his broad hands carefully stroking the child lest he break something.  
  
Xal'Thun, touching the child, felt nothing like it before. Suddenly his fingers felt warm again, his legs and arms packed with some unknown force. The barbarian smiled to the child, "Hey, we're going to go see if we can find your daddy."  
  
And the barbarian smiled as the child looked up from his tears. The little beady eyes stared into the barbarian's, and his small hands wiped away the tears. "Re.. really? We are? You mean you'll find my daddy?"  
  
The barbarian nodded.  
  
"Did you hear that, brother? He's... he's going to go find daddy!" Then the child jerked himself away from the eldest and the barbarian, stumbling slightly before gaining his balance. He ran, arms flailing, into the cavern. He was screaming for his daddy. "We're gonna find you! Daddy! Can you hear me?" Those were the words he said.  
  
And Xal'Thun feared for the child's safety. "Oh, no... come on, child. We've got to catch up to your little brother. He's going to get himself hurt!" So they sped into a mad dash, the barbarian grasping the eldest child's hand as his other hand, his right hand, gripped the glimmering blade tightly. He ran into the caverns, the only thing leading him a faint slimmer of what was the silhouette of the child. He ran for him, shouting "Wait" and "Stop" the entire way he ran.  
  
Still the child ignored the barbarian's pleas and he ran deeper into the caverns, as if he knew the way to his father. He made turns sudden and sharp when the barbarian nearly caught up with the child, sending the barbarian toppling to the ground. Then the barbarian would stand up as the eldest child ran ahead, the barbarian muttering to himself and beginning his run again. He passed by rocks, rocks, many many rocks, much of it eerily emanating a faint glow. A touch of blue, almost.  
  
Xal'Thun still ran, wondering how a child could run so far and so deep into the caverns without a hint of fear or signs of weariness showing. He, himself, was growing weary of what seemed like hours of running into the caverns. He could not turn back from the chase; the distance too great from where he began. Every turn made him feel as if he were traveling in circles.  
  
The barbarian, in his run, almost wanted to throw the burdensome sword away. It was as if he could hear voices â€" voices similar to those he had heard in his head when he had first seen the caverns. "Cast that sword off... you know it is burdensome to you. The weight is slowing you down, and it is no sword anyway. You saw how dull the blade was. It cannot help you fight. It will leave you behind. Throw it away."  
  
"Toss it away. Throw it."  
  
But Xal'Thun continued to run with the sword, pushing the thoughts away from his mind. "I... I can't. I have nothing else... nothing else." He spoke them aloud, in between his huffing and puffing. His legs felt weak and he began to tremble with every step.  
  
The child stopped soon enough, a sudden stop as if he had faced an invisible wall. He just stood there, deep in the caverns as if he had just forgotten where he was running. Then the child turned around, first one step, and then spinning to face the weary barbarian.  
  
"Wait a minute," the child spoke. The barbarian stood there completely caught by the child's voice. The voice once seemed innocent as tears and chokes broke in-between; now without the brokenness he sounded like something much larger than anything the barbarian could have imagined. "Wait a moment. Where's my brother?"  
  
Xal'Thun glanced around. The elder one was nowhere to be seen. The barbarian said nothing, his shoulders limp with weariness, the sword once again kissing the ground.  
  
The child spoke again. "Where's my brother? You were with him... you were with him..."  
  
But the barbarian spoke now, "No... he couldn't have gone far. He ran ahead of me when I fell ov-"  
  
"No!" the child shot back, such ferocity in his voice that it sounded almost inhuman. When he spoke again, it became childish as it always was. "I say you didn't. I think you took him away. Where is he? Where did you take him?"  
  
"No! I didn't! I didn't do a thing!"  
  
"Yes you did! I know it! I was running and then... I didn't see him anymore. You took him away from me!" The barbarian almost sighed, if not for the fact he suddenly felt very hot. He took a step away as an updraft of warm air suddenly blew into his face. It left his face scorched and he waved his hands in front, trying in his best efforts to quell the heat away from his face. "You... there's... something here. You.. what are you? You're no child."  
  
"I am a child. I am a child. I am a child. I am NOT a child. I am beyond your childish views." As he spoke he stepped forward, advancing closer to the barbarian. Voices screamed in the barbarian's head â€" or were they outside? He could no longer distinguish the voices any longer. And the child stepped closer, his shadows flickering as if a wild fire was flickering around him. They danced on the ground and the walls, dancing along with the shrieks and shouts that came...  
  
...from the barbarian. Such madness circled his mind, he no longer knew what he heard or saw. The voices were overwhelming... shrieks and shouts as well as his own mind telling him...  
  
"You can't take it anymore. Release the accursed weapon!" And the shadows seemed to grow in size... were they still on the wall? Did he see the shadows kiss his nose? Where were they? He stumbled back with a scream as he swung his blade around.  
  
And the swing connects like puzzle. It locked in its target and it touched the shadow as if a force of a dozen elephants had just connected at that very point. The shadow screamed as if in pain, as if it bled out its innards. Then the shadow screamed no more, for it bled not at all, but instead writhed on the floor.  
  
Do shadows have blood?  
  
The barbarian still screamed as the child walked closer as the barbarian swung his blade wildly, watching as shadows that grew from the floors began to fly into the air and become no more as the blade touched the nothings and the nothings became a dead something.  
  
But the child was never touched by the blade. He never got that close, instead just standing there, his posture erect as his shadows continued to flood like a river onto the barbarian. Even the sword was soon useless as the shadows fought with the barbarian's hands. Then the sword dropped and the barbarian was overtaken.  
  
The child smiled once, saying softly to the barbarian, "Yes, you'll find my daddy. Just like you should have done long ago. You'll see him." The shadows screamed with joy and shrieked before the black matter somehow crawled away and out of sight.  
  
Then the child stood there again, silently being himself once more. Tears streamed out of his eyes again and the heat dispersed in the cold caverns. From nowhere a hand pressed his shoulder and the elder child was standing beside him. He hugged the little child, who promptly began to cry. The younger child pressed his head into the elder one's chest as they walked.  
  
"Come, Jeb. We'll take you back outside. Maybe someone will find your daddy someday."  
  
The little child sniffled as the elder one led them out of the darkness. Soon the caverns were empty yet again, save the sword that lay on the floor.  
  
The last sound Jeb heard before the scene disappeared from his mind was a single shriek in the distance, far, far away.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Nothing, Jeb. Nothing." 


End file.
